


Mandokar

by Antimatics



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu has three dads now, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Season Two AU, Tags May Change, Teacher Luke Skywalker, Threesome - M/M/M, takes place post Mandalorian season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antimatics/pseuds/Antimatics
Summary: While pursuing a bounty on a backwater outer rim planet, Din is caught off guard and taken prisoner by another bounty hunter by the name of Boba Fett.Takes place post season one of The Mandalorian, a sort of AU of season two.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Boba Fett/Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 47
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

He’d been pursuing the Rodian for the past six days. The target wasn’t worth the time this was taking, and the payout certainly wasn’t worth all this trouble.

Din hadn’t even encountered the Rodian yet, the job so far had just been a series of asking questions to the ‘right’ people and following a trail that grew a bit colder with each new clue he uncovered.

His heart wasn’t really in the hunt this time around, he’d picked it up just to have something productive to do. A way to keep enough credits in his pocket so he wouldn’t have to worry about the kid or about their fuel situation if he ever _did_ find out where to start looking for the _Jetii._

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut each time he thought about it. About when the time would finally come to give the kid up. Din had dreamt of it even, in his more restless attempts at sleep.

A hooded, faceless figure, reaching out to take the tiny being from his arms. Surrendering the kid to a stranger, to an ancient enemy of Mandalore. It all felt horribly wrong.

This was the way, though. Wasn’t it? Din certainly didn’t know anything about whatever magic it was that the kid had control over. He would never have been particularly interested in it in the first place, if it wasn’t affecting their lives. If it wasn’t cause to send bounty hunters and stormtroopers after a baby.

He desperately wished there was a way to protect the Child himself, to never have to give him up or let him out of his sight ever again.

So maybe it wasn’t just that there was a dead-end in their search for the _Jetii_. There was some part of him desperately trying to cling to the time they had left together. Before their clan of two became a clan of one.

They had settled briefly in a badly lit cantina, looking for clues to aid them in attaining the bounty. Well. Din was looking for leads, the kid was sitting on the bench next to him decidedly _not_ ingesting the food in front of him but instead scowling at it and holding the dish’s accompanying utensil in a tiny fist, intermittently banging it against the metal side of the bowl loudly in protest. It was some kind of grain-based soup, Din assumed, and the only thing that seemed like an appropriate choice to offer a child from the cantina’s limited selection of menu items. Apparently, he and the kid disagreed on what constituted an appropriate choice of meal. Though the congealed, cold substance didn’t look very appetizing to him either, so he couldn’t blame the kid for his dissatisfaction.

A thick glob of the grey paste landed on the edge of his visor, slowly sliding down to land on the table before him.

Din shot a look at the kid, melting a bit at the sight of the little grin on his face and little noises of laughter he was making at Din’s misfortune. His little arm still up from flinging his meal.

Din gently took the utensil out of his grasp, setting it back in the bowl where it belonged. “I know you’re hungry,” He scooped the kid up to sit in his lap, something in his chest relaxing now that he was holding the kid once more, “We’ll find you something else, alright?”

The kid cooed happily, reaching towards the smudge left across the visor of his helmet.

Din smiled softly at him, gloved finger coming up to meet the kid’s much smaller hand and brush it aside playfully, “Yes, you really got me.” He wiped the mess off of his visor the best he could, “You have very good aim.”

Another little gurgle of joy.

Din tucked the kid to his chest protectively and stood, ignoring the way heads turned in interest at his movement. The beskar drew a lot of attention, he’d have to remember to keep an eye out for any inebriated patrons who might try a cheap shot to get their hands on it when he left.

He walked to the bar, easily getting the attention of the Bothan behind the counter. “Have you seen a Rodian around here lately?”

The Bothan scowled and looked appraisingly at his armor, “I see a lot of things ‘round here.”

Biting back the frustration crawling up the back of his throat, Din dug out a small pile of credits and dumped them on the counter a little too aggressively, “Would one of those things happen to have been a Rodian in the last few days?”

The Bothan pocketed the money and shrugged, “What’d he look like?”

“Green.”

That earned a snort and the Bothan turned to serve another patron as he spoke, “Overheard he was looking for a ship to hire to get off planet. Might be gone by now, though he didn’t even have enough credits to pay off his tab, so I’d say not. Probably still in town. I’d check out where they’re offloading cargo from those big freighters just outside town, hear those fellows don’t mind a few stowaways for the right price. Only way off of this planet without having a ship of your own.”

Din nodded in thanks and left, stepping out into the hazy evening light outside. This backwater planet’s atmosphere was a thick grey fog that even the light of its two suns had trouble penetrating. Most of the landscape was blanketed in thick green mud interspersed with the occasional outcropping of rock, any plants that managed enough light to grow were low to the ground and armored in thorns.

It didn’t make for the most inviting travel destination, and a week of slogging through mud after a cheap bounty and much too little sleep didn’t make it any more appealing.

If this job took any longer, especially if he had to go off planet to see it through, Din was going to lose his mind. While the extended job helped him justify the extra time with the kid without outright quitting the search for another one of his kind, they were already down to their last few credits. The ever-present worry that he wouldn’t be able to take proper care of his founding added an element of pressure to his jobs that set his teeth on edge.

The kid babbled and pointed at something behind him, reaching towards it with tiny claws.

Din spun, grabbing the blaster he’d seen in his peripheral and ripping it out of their assailants’ hand, the blast meant for his back striking the ground and sending up a spray of mud.

He threw the rusting, battered blaster into the street and pulled his own weapon, angling the child away from the stranger as best he could while jamming a blaster into the other being’s chest.

It was a human. A weather-chaffed man dressed in somewhat stained clothes that suggested he might typically work in the mine Din had seen a group of workers coming home from as he’d flown in.

It took a moment to realize the man was really more of a child than anything under the thin layer of soot settled into the creases of his face, his hands shook and made an aborted attempt at reaching towards the blaster pressed into his chest in defense as he skittered backwards into the wall of the building they’d both just left.

“P-please!!” He choked out in panic, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. Din could feel the way his body was shaking in sudden fear through his grip on the blaster he held.

He slipped it back into its holster almost as fast as he’d drawn it. “Don’t pick fights you can’t win for armor you can’t sell, kid.”

Din adjusted his grip on the baby and walked away, checking to make sure he was okay once they’d gotten a relatively safe distance down the street. The child blinked up at Din with huge black eyes, seemingly unaffected by danger they’d just been in and happy as could be.

“You’re alright.” Din sighed, brushing a hand over his little green head affectionately, ignoring the way his heart was still pounding at the suggestion the baby could have been hurt and he wouldn’t have been able to stop it. “You’re alright.”

If he was reassuring himself more than he was reassuring the kid, well, neither of them pointed that out.

He kept walking, safely tucking the kid into the little bag he carried with him so he could hold the kid while keeping his hands free to defend them. Initially, Din had tried to keep the kid onboard the ship, but that lasted all of one day before he gave up on trying to keep the kid contained on the Razor Crest.

If he was always going to insist on escaping, better to keep him with Din than let him wander the planet on his own. The very idea of letting that happen made a cold pit of dread settle in his stomach.

The supply ships were nothing special, unloading basic necessities from off planet that the little village clinging to the rocks and mud needed to get by. A relatively even mixture of workers and droids milled around the slimy field the ships had landed in, moving massive crates and loading large amounts of ore and comparably miniscule amounts of the local agricultural yield onto ships that had already been emptied. Din thought he recognized that strange grey grain from the cantina and an odd, lumpy sort of fruit he’d seen being sold by vendors on the street while he’d been here, wicked looking thorns protruding from its scale-like flesh.

He’d stuck with eating the ration bars stocked on the Razor Crest for the duration of their stay.

The Rodian easily stood out from the rest of the crowd, looking to be attempting to bargain with the pilot of one of the smaller freighters, gesturing first at the pilot and then to the planet around them emphatically.

Unfortunately, before he could get close enough, the Rodian saw Din’s approach. Mandalorian armor didn’t make for the best camouflage either, as it turned out.

The Rodian pulled a blaster from his hip and shot wildly towards Din, wayward shot sparking off the side of one of the ships nearby. Panicking, he turned his blaster on the pilot he'd just been speaking with and shot him in the chest, pushing several other crew members aside and disappearing up the ramp into the ship they had stood in front of.

Din threw himself behind a crate, shielding the child with his own body and returning fire as the Rodian ducked into the ship, the blast ricocheting off the entryway above his target’s head.

Luckily, his target was easy enough to locate. Still in the cockpit messing with the controls and trying to get the ship off the ground by the time Din caught up with him and slammed the butt of his blaster into the back of his bounty’s skull.

The Rodian slumped across the control panel, subdued enough that it was easy to secure a pair of binders around his wrists and drag him back off of the ship.

The shipping yard was thrown into confused chaos, a handful of beings running to the fallen pilot’s aid but most pushing to run away from the sudden outburst of violence that had occurred in their midst.

Din hauled the Rodian off towards his own ship, which, naturally, was waiting on the complete other side of the village in a different field. His bounty was a dead weight in his grasp, unconscious. If the job hadn’t specified the desire for Din to bring the Rodian in alive, he’d have been sorely tempted to kill him now to save himself anymore trouble.

Well, that and some part of Din didn’t want to kill anyone unnecessarily in front of the kid, who was trying to wiggle out of the bag to reach for a piece of fruit in one of the crates they walked by.

Din snagged a piece of the strange, thorny fruit and tucked it into one of the pouches on his hip. He’d have to cut the sharp bits off before he could give it to the kid later, but the kid seemed to know he’d gotten it for him and settled down to watch passerby while Din walked back through the village towards his ship.

The walk was uneventful, and Din was looking forward to leaving this place as soon as possible. This was the last time he’d take such a low-paying and time-consuming guild job. He was more than ready to leave.

Green mud stained his legs as he walked and his bounty was thoroughly caked in the thick sludge from being pulled along by a leg through the street. He probably shouldn’t be so careless with his prize, but Din was exhausted and hungry and fed up with this job.

The occasional groan of pain escaped the Rodian when his head would bounce off of a particularly unforgiving stone or splash through a puddle. He contemplated the merits of freezing the bounty in carbonite for their return trip just to avoid the mess getting tracked into his ship. Six days of coming and going from the Crest had already brought enough of a mess through as it was, and he didn’t relish spending his time between jobs cleaning.

They were just approaching the Razor Crest when a shot from behind hit Din square in the back. It deflected off the beskar but still sent him stumbling forward a couple of steps, letting go of his grip on the Rodian’s ankle. He ducked and spun around to return fire, hitting the assailant’s leg and sending him sprawling in the mud, clutching at the wound.

Din stalked forward, anger and frustration clouding his thoughts, dodging a second shot and shooting their attacker in the head, killing him.

It was the kid from outside the cantina. The one he’d let off with a warning. He must have been waiting for their return to try and kill Din again and take his armor. It hurt, knowing he’d most likely only tried such a reckless move out of desperation and had been killed for it, but he'd had his chance. 

Din spent a moment too long staring at the corpse, at the way lanky, malnourished limbs splayed like a fallen child’s toy in the mud. He placed a protective hand on his own kid’s head, as if to shield him from yet another act of violence Din had been unable to avoid exposing him to.

He turned back to the ship just in time to see the Rodian disappearing into the scrubby foliage surrounding the little field the were in, running awkwardly with hands still bound behind his back.

“Just can’t catch a break today, huh kid?” Din looked down into the wide eyes looking up at him and met the smile he found there with a small one of his own, “At least you’re still happy. Not much manages to get you down, does it?”

A cheerful coo answered him.

Din shook his head and trekked towards the stand of gnarled, scrawny trees. They didn't provide much cover, so it wouldn’t be hard to catch back up with their target.

Before he got much farther though, a figure strolled out of the scrub towards them, the Rodian pushed along in front of them with the end of a gaderffii pressed between his shoulder blades.

Din didn’t recognize _who_ the figure was, though he must have been fairly recognizable going by the way the Rodian had begun to shake and plead. What Din did recognize immediately, however, was _what_ he was.

A Mandalorian.

His breath caught in his throat and he stopped in his tracks.

Images of Mandalorian helmets piled in a dimly lit sewer flickered through his mind. Of his people, so few in number since the purge that they were rumored to be extinct.

The Mandalorian’s armor was painted green, a bit scuffed and chipping in areas. The dents in the armor revealed it to not be purely beskar, though their armor rarely was. His choice of weapon struck Din as a bit strange, having only known the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine use the gaffi stick in combat.

The Mandalorian wasn’t one Din had met, as far as he knew, and yet his heart ached at the sight of him and the sight of _home_ he brought with him.

The man spoke, voice accented and rough in a way that sent a less-than-pure prickling down Din’s spine. “Think you lost something.” He jabbed the stick harder into the Rodian’s back and sent him sprawling at Din’s feet.

Din took a beat too long to speak, “Thanks.” He cleared his throat.

The other Mandalorian snorted in amusement and kicked the bounty to keep him from getting back up, “Trouble?” He nodded towards the corpse of the villager, still laying where he’d fallen.

Din glanced back and shook his head uncomfortably, “Just a kid who wasn’t smart enough to back down.” Guilt tightened his throat for a moment and he looked down at the Rodian between them. “Thanks.” He said again, dumbly.

“Saw you in the village, haven’t seen a Mandalorian in a long time.” The other Mandalorian made a dismissive noise and gestured with his gaffi stick towards the corpse, “Saw this one following you and I figured I’d offer my assistance.”

Din was too distracted to realize the other man had come from the foliage on the opposite side of the field from the direction the village was in.

“It’s nice to see another Mandalorian.” He said quietly, so surprised to see the familiar shape of the armor in front of him that he forgot any hesitance he should have had at the sudden appearance of a stranger.

The other man nodded in agreement, “Have you been alone, then? There aren’t any others?” He aimed another, gentler kick at the Rodian, “Alright, enough lounging around. Get up so we can load you onto the ship.”

The Rodian flinched and stood after a moment of struggle, more pleas and noises of distress escaping his mouth. “Boba Fett.” Was all Din caught of the Rodian’s rushed speech.

Din shook his head and they walked towards the Razor Crest on either side of the bounty, matching one another’s pace. “Just me and the foundling, now. The others…” He stopped walking for a beat and swallowed down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him; empty helmets and the voices of friends he’d grown up with, trained with, rushing through his mind. “We were scattered.”

They boarded the Razor Crest, the other Mandalorian turned to look at him, “The foundling?”

Din lifted the kid from his place in the bag and set him on the floor of the ship gently, smiling behind his helmet as the little green form toddled away from them deeper into the ship. Home. “Our clan is a clan of two.” He said quietly, watching the kid as he spoke.

The other man watched the kid silently for a moment, “You adopted him?” Something in his voice had changed, it was softer somehow, though just as rough as it had been before.

“I… I haven’t spoken the vows yet, no. I’ve been tasked with finding his people and returning him to their care.” Din ignored the way his own words hurt to say. But they were true, he had a job to do, for the sake of the kid. Though he hadn’t been looking very hard for the _Jetii_ lately, had he?

The other Mandalorian seemed to be listening as he spoke but the sound of blaster fire brought Din’s attention back to the present. The other man had grabbed Din’s own blaster off his hip and had shot the Rodian in the head, easily pushing the body out of the Razor Crest and triggering the panel at the doors to close them and bring the ramp up.

Din immediately reached for the phase-pulse blaster slung across his back, but froze when the man leveled his blaster at the kid, hand steady and following the little movements the kid made as he toddled around the floor.

“I’ll bet I can shoot the little green one before you can get that thing off your back.” The tone was almost teasing, like this was a game and he wasn’t threatening to shoot Din’s _ad’ika._

Din raised his hands slowly and moved them away from his weapons, eyes darting between the baby and the man suddenly holding him hostage. The _Mandalorian_ man holding him hostage that Din had been too quick to trust.

“What do you want?” He bit out.

The man made a disappointed noise, “I was sent a job to collect the little one, here. I’m sure you’re not entirely unaware of the size of the bounty on it’s head?”

Din felt cold, like he’d been doused in icy water and couldn’t breathe without it filling his lungs, “He isn’t dead.” He said quietly, thinking back to the fight with Moff Gideon. He wasn’t dead. Or he was dead and someone else had the same interest in the child as Gideon. Din didn’t know which would be worse.

A crashing noise had both their heads snapping to the side. A mug clattered to the ground and rolled across the metal floor, the kid’s large green ears visible ducking out of sight as he found and dug through where Din had hidden the packet of cookies from him. They always made the kid sick when Din let him eat too many and had to be kept out of sight.

The kid poked his head around the corner to watch them, unfazed by the blaster aimed at him or the palpable tension in the air. He stuffed a cookie into his mouth, a shower of blue crumbs raining down to dust his little robe and fall around his feet. He blinked at the two of them, content as could be.

“He’s just a baby.” Din pleaded, voice wavering, “Please. You don’t know what they’re planning on doing with him.”

The man threw a pair of binders at Din’s feet. “Put those on or spend the ride cooling off in some carbonite. Up to you.”

Din let the other bounty hunter maneuver his arms above his head to cuff him to a support bar and search him for weapons, flinching as each one he found was tucked into the other man’s belt and his phase-pulse blaster was taken off of him. “You don’t have to do this.” He tried again.

“You’re right. I don’t.” He agreed, scooping the kid up off the floor and cradling him in an easy, comfortable way. He knocked his shoulder gently into Din as they passed him. “Better get comfortable, Mudhorn, long flight ahead of us.” He disappeared up into the cockpit with the kid.

Din wrapped his hands around the bar and pulled his body up, twisting to reach the vibroblade tucked into his boot as the Razor Crest shook and its engines began to heat. They’d just made it through the atmosphere when Din managed to twist enough to reach for it, attempting to use it to pick open the binders but losing his grip on it when the Razor Crest suddenly jerked into hyperspace. It clattered to the floor and slid to the back of the cargo hold. Din stared at it, only somewhat aware of his breaths coming faster and the way his body began to shake as he realized he was powerless to do anything to free himself. To save his kid. There was nothing he could do to stop his _ad’ika_ from being taken away. Again.

Steely resolve burned away the despair creeping in. No. Din would get them out of this. He always had before. This would be no different. So he waited, biding his time for an opportunity to strike.

His mind caught in the words the Rodian had spoken amidst his pleas for mercy, _Boba Fett._

Was that the name of this man who dared to break their clan apart? This Mandalorian that showed no honor or respect for their traditions? Who would take a foundling away from his care and deliver them to the enemy?

Din stared towards the hatch that led up into the cockpit. He didn’t care if he had to track Fett across the entire galaxy. He’d kill him for this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba's POV, some backstory, some fight scene, Boba's brain goes brrr because of Din's thicc thighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna post this a day early because you're all lovely and I'm thrilled with the response to this fic so far! I love you guysssss

Boba Fett had followed whispered rumors of a man in gleaming Mandalorian armor here, to this backwater planet clogged with mud and gravel. He’d had to bribe the crew of a cargo ship to let him tag along, having to pay extra when their bold and foolhardy pilot had insisted that they couldn’t risk a passenger of Boba’s ‘reputation’ being discovered onboard.

Once they’d landed it was easy enough to repay the crew for their generosity and move the ship to a place outside the village where it and the corpses it contained wouldn’t be discovered too quickly.

He missed the Slave I.

Boba had crawled out of the sarlacc pit halfway dead. Skin burned away in huge swaths and limbs refusing to respond to his commands, he’d fallen unconscious as soon as he was out of immediate danger.

He’d woken later as Jawas were pulling his father’s armor off of his body and throwing it into a scrap metal pile behind them. All Boba remembered was pain, feeling like every inch of his skin had been set alight by a sun. He recalled the hysterical thought that he had only hallucinated his escape and that _this must be what it feels like to be digested_.

Too dehydrated and wounded to fight the Jawas off, he made a weak attempt at kicking them away before the world faded to black again.

At some point they’d cleaned and patched his burns, had given him some water, and dumped him outside of Mos Eisley. His father’s armor and jetpack gone and the tattered, burned remains of the flight suit he’d worn underneath all he had left.

The Jawas’ idea of honor left much to be desired.

No weapons, armor, or credits, he’d limped his way into the spaceport, keeping to back alleys and shadows to stay somewhat protected and out of sight. He made it to the hangar he’d kept the Slave I in only to discover it missing. Likely taken as collateral by the Hutts when the time he’d paid to store his ship had run out, too busy being slowly consumed by a sarlacc to make his payments.

He didn’t think twice about killing the man that owned the hangar using the man’s own blaster and stealing a cruiser left unattended outside, pain and anger fueling him through his exhaustion as he took off into the dunes, trying to track the Jawas that had dropped him off and stolen the only thing he’d had left of his father’s legacy.

When the speeder died and he found himself stranded, nothing but sand as far as he could see in any direction, the sand people found him. Boba’s first instinct was to shoot, but the blaster he’d taken was in poor condition and jammed before he could take down even the first raider that approached.

Somewhat luckily, Boba understood and could communicate at least passably in Tusken, and that’s what saved him. He figured he managed to get across to them that _tired_ and _hurt_ were his main concerns and that he meant them no harm. Though he tactfully left out that he would have shot at them as soon as he’d seen them if he’d had the chance.

For some inexplicable reason, they rescued him from the dunes and helped to treat his burns, nursing him back to health and treating him as one of their own.

He’d stayed with them far longer than he’d needed to. It felt nice, this unfamiliar sense of a kind of belonging Boba had started to feel in their little village. They took care of him as if he were kin, in a way no one had since his father had been alive. He never understood why they bothered to waste their resources on him, and when he’d tried to ask, they’d only gesture at the burns – now healed into a patchwork of thick white scars – across his body and call him _warrior_.

He got along well enough with the men and women of the tribe, they respected him, and he was grateful to be accepted by them, but Boba got along best with the children and the tribe’s Massiffs, who were keen on getting to know the stranger in their midst and maybe convince him to join him in the games they played. Boba was wary of the Massiffs at first, but soon learned they’d much rather be pet and fed scraps of meat than try and attack him. He was wary of the children as well at first, unused to interacting with younglings of any species. It only took a week for them to convince him to tell them stories or indulge in the games they played with each other.

Boba did his part during his time with the Tusken Raiders, repaying their startling amount of generosity and kindness towards him by joining them on hunts and helping when he could. He had few qualms about joining them in attacking any transports that crossed their path or the occasional raid of some moisture farmer’s homestead. They appreciated the way his lifelong history of bounty hunting lent itself to their lifestyle.

And they taught him to wield the Gaderffii. By the time he left the Tuskens, Boba found he almost preferred the brutal efficiency of the Gaffi stick to the blasters he’d grown up shooting and being shot by others with.

When the time came to move on, he made quick work of the Jawas that had taken his father’s armor from him. After tracking their Sandcrawler for a couple of days, it was a simple task to sneak on board when they stopped to scavenge and find his armor. They’d left it scattered amongst pieces of blast-scorched droids and twisted scrap metal.

It didn’t take long for Boba to show them just what he thought about their thievery and subsequent treatment of the only thing in the galaxy of any value to him. A sick sense of vindication grew with every blow he struck.

He’d left their bodies to stain the sand red and wither in the unforgiving light of the twin suns overhead.

Boba never did manage to figure out where the Slave I had ended up. Instead, he ended up stealing the first ship he’d been able to break into when he’d gotten back to Mos Eisley.

It’d been some time since then, and Boba had been all over the galaxy collecting bounties, though he stuck to the Outer Rim as much as possible. The hunt never felt the way it did before the sarlacc, though. Cashing in on his bounties or the old thrill of the chase felt stale, and the crowds of spaceports and cities made his skin crawl.

But there was nothing else for him _but_ this, was there? He’d never known any other life. So, he stuck with it, and tried to ignore the way things had changed. The ways he himself had changed.

His stolen ship, funnily enough, had been stolen on his last job. The same day he’d gotten the com from an anonymous client offering the highest bounty he’d seen in years.

Boba hadn’t seen a job like this since the days of the Empire. He couldn’t help the sick chill that settled across his skin at the thought. The manner in which the job had been delivered, and the staggering sum of credits behind this anonymous client’s demands… felt _exactly_ like his days of hunting on the payroll of the Empire.

And they’d known to contact _him_ of all the bounty hunters in the galaxy. The notorious Boba Fett, cruelly effective at his work and worth the price tag.

Like some violent pet they’d always have at their beck and call.

And, well, he’d come when they’d called, hadn’t he? Here he was, chasing down a _kid_ and bringing it back to some unknown fate.

Boba tried not to think about the details of what he was doing – it never helped – especially not in situations like this.

It’d been easy enough to get the Mandalorian to trust Boba enough to let him board his ship – and it was an ancient hunk of metal, too – all he’d had to do was catch his escaped prey and bring it back. It didn’t hurt that the Mandalorian seemed desperate for a friendly face, and that Boba’s father’s armor was just what the other man had needed to see.

It’d been easier still to enact his immediate betrayal of that trust, to turn a weapon on the little one and watch as the Mandalorian froze.

Boba left the Mandalorian cuffed in the cargo hold and made his way to the cockpit. The old ship protested slightly as it went into hyperspace, old metal frame shuddering and the sound of something loose rattling around somewhere inside its guts. Charming.

He set the ship in autopilot and made his promised com to update the client.

No holo projection came through for him but he knew his own visage was visible on the other end of the call. He hated anonymous jobs.

“The asset has been secured. Headed to the rendezvous point now.” Boba tried to keep his message brief, wanting this to be over with as soon as possible.

A pleased noise from the other end of the call, “Excellent. I trust you had no trouble capturing it?”

“It was simple enough.”

The client made a sound of acknowledgement, “And the asset’s… guardian?” There was a note of derision in the other man’s voice.

Boba was grateful for his helmet, then, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He kept his voice indifferent, “Subdued. Bound in the cargo hold and disarmed.”

A noise almost bordering on a laugh met his news, “Kill him. He’s caused enough trouble. Feel free to keep his armor as payment for your... additional services. Pure beskar steel, very valuable.”

Something like anger burned for a moment in Boba’s throat, stories his father had told him of Mandalore and his people flickered through his mind. All too aware of the armor he himself wore and where it had come from, the legacy it bore, he paused for a moment before replying in the same disinterested tone, “As you wish.”

A moment passed, then, “It would be best for you to deliver the asset directly to my ship. I’ll send you the new coordinates. Come directly to me and make haste.”

Boba made a slightly dramatic show of looking down at the control panel in front of him, “I’ll have to refuel first. Ship’s almost completely empty.”

Displeasure colored the voice now, “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you don’t make any detours before delivery.”

He scoffed, “That’s too bad, unless you’d prefer I drop out of hyperspace and freeze to death in empty space along with your prize. I know a moon nearby, won’t take long.”

Boba reached forward and ended the call before the other man could protest. Honestly, that conversation may as well have proved he was dealing with remnant of the Empire. No other employer could sound so entitled to his work as they had always managed to.

He sighed and took off his helmet, rubbing a hand across his face. This job felt off, something about the image of handing that strange little green baby to the Empire made his skin crawl. His instincts may as well have been screaming at him to turn the ship around.

The idea of killing the Mandalorian in the cargo hold seemed particularly wrong. To kill a man for the sin of what, exactly? Being a decent father and trying to protect his child?

Not that Boba hadn’t done worse things in the past.

But he knew he couldn’t do it. As soon as he’d heard the orders he’d known.

He couldn’t kill a Mandalorian, one of his father’s people, and he certainly couldn’t kill him and then pry the beskar off his fallen body like some scavenger. 

Boba couldn’t kill a father in front of his son. He couldn’t make a kid watch his father die, slaughtered like an animal.

The way he himself had been forced to watch, back on Geonosis all those years ago, as his father’s head rolled through red sand.

He clutched the helmet in his hands and stared into the visor, a ghost that haunted his every waking thought.

He couldn’t do it.

What a useless, soft excuse for a bounty hunter. Boba made a small sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if that would clear the past from the corners of his mind.

A tug at his leg had his muscles stiffening and his hand reaching for the blaster at his hip.

The little green creature only looked up at him with wide, calm eyes. Unfazed by the barrel of a blaster aimed at its head. A small hand reached towards him, a bright blue cookie of all things in its tiny grip.

“What do you want?” Boba said tonelessly, motionless. He kept the blaster trained on the kid.

Nonsensical babbling sounds filled the air, and the kid waved the cookie around in Boba’s direction, large black eyes staring into his own.

Was it… offering him a cookie?

Boba holstered his blaster and shook his head, “No.” Why was this so uncomfortable?

The kid didn’t move, cookie still held between them, unwavering.

He rolled his eyes and took the cookie, holding it awkwardly, “What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be down below with your papa?”

The only response he got was a soft coo and the little one lifted its arms over its head as if asking to be picked up.

Did the child have any survival instincts at all? Or did it always ask dangerous bounty hunters to pick it up and hold it?

Well, maybe that’s how it had ended up with its dad in the first place.

Shaking his head, he picked it up gingerly, unsure of how to hold it. Childcare wasn’t exactly his area of expertise.

Boba left the cockpit after making sure they were headed where he wanted to go. He’d selected a remote moon in one of the Outer Rim systems, only a handful of colonies bothered to call the place home, leftover from some long burnt-out mining operation pre-Empire.

It should’ve been remote enough to stop and refuel without any trouble.

He climbed down the ladder with one hand, the baby tucked against the breastplate of his armor.

The Mandalorian’s head whipped around as he heard them enter the cargo hold, body twisting against the binders that held him in a way that had to have hurt.

“Put the kid down.” He snarled, binders rattling against the metal beam above his head as he pulled at them.

Boba did as he was asked, hitting the button to reveal the small space at the back of the hold meant for sleeping. He set the kid on the bed, handing the cookie he’d been given back to the tiny creature and fighting a smile when the little beast happily chomped down on it.

“Who did you kill for that armor?” The other man’s voice sounded cold, something deadly in his tone.

That hadn’t been what Boba was expecting. He furrowed his brow, turning away from the little one to face the man, “I didn’t kill anyone for it. It’s mine.”

The Mandalorian jerked against his restraints, body tensed as if he wanted nothing more than a fight. “You aren’t a Mandalorian. Who are you?”

Boba circled around so that they could speak face to face, relieving some of the strain the other man must have felt, “I never said I was. The armor is mine, though.” Boba wouldn’t kill a man and steal his armor.

He thought about what his client had requested of him. Shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

“Buying stolen armor doesn’t make it yours.”

“No,” Boba agreed, “It doesn’t.”

A frustrated noise, another tug against the binders. “You took your helmet off. You abandoned the creed.” It wasn’t asked so much as stated with such genuine incredulity that Boba felt like he might have been missing something.

He vaguely recalled his father talking about a sect of Mandalorians that never removed their helmets in the presence of other lifeforms. Boba remembered hating the idea, thinking that it must be a lonely way of life.

Was that what this Mandalorian was talking about?

Boba looked into the other man’s visor, then away to fixate on some spot on the floor of the ship. “This armor belonged to my father, Jango Fett. He was a Mandalorian.” _Not me,_ Boba didn’t say.

The Mandalorian dropped the topic and glanced towards the kid as if to make sure it was still where Boba had left it, safe and happily spilling blue crumbs across the bed. His voice was tight when he finally spoke, “They’re going to do some sort of experiment on him.”

Boba followed his gaze, jaw tightening, “What could they possibly need him for that they couldn’t find anywhere else?” _Why does it have to be a kid?_ Images of fetuses, babies, and children in different stages of development filling row after row of cloning tanks flooded his thoughts. He’d seen enough experiments done on younglings for one lifetime.

“They need him for… something. Some kind of weapon they’re creating.” The edge of fear in his voice spoke of knowledge borne of past experiences.

Boba made an incredulous noise, “They need an _ad’ika_ to build a weapon?” On some level Boba already knew his plans for this bounty had shifted, but now the concept became much more tangible. He changed the subject to hide the pang of _something_ he felt all of a sudden, “We’re making a stop to refuel soon, I’ll leave the little one with you.”

He retreated back towards the cockpit, trying to come up with any reason that he could use to convince himself that it was a _good_ idea to deliver this bounty and follow through with the job. He’d certainly done worse, and he wasn’t one to leave any job unfinished. Failing to deliver the asset would undoubtedly hurt the reputation he’d built around himself.

Climbing the ladder, he couldn’t help but glance towards the little green form still perched atop the sleeping mat.

The child waved in Boba’s direction as he left, “Bah!” It said excitedly.

He stifled the urge to bash his head against the metal rung in front of him. When did he become such a pushover?

It took them about twelve hours to reach their destination. All of which Boba spent tucked away up in the cockpit. The sudden moral turmoil that had stricken Boba made him uneasy. He knew he had to complete the job. If his father had taught him anything, it was that you always finished the job.

But hadn’t he taught Boba the importance of family? He couldn’t help but see far too many similarities between his own upbringing and the unlikely pair that his guests in the cargo hold made. Unlikely, but family, nonetheless. Could Boba really say that this Mandalorian and his foundling were so different from himself and his father?

Regardless, he didn’t dare to venture back down into the cargo hold again until they arrived.

They landed in a barren little field behind the shack that served as a service station for the local ships. There were a few other ships in the field, a strange array that Boba wouldn’t typically expect to see on a backwater hunk of rock like this.

He did his best to ignore his passengers as he exited the ship, some traitorous part of his mind hyper aware of the muffled curse _osi’yaim_ mumbled as Boba walked by, dodging the rather vicious kick that accompanied the expletive by a hairsbreadth of space. The baby had fallen fast asleep, oblivious.

The strange sense that something was off about this place only got worse when he ventured out onto the moon’s surface. Yes, these ships were definitely either too expensive or too rare to be commonplace in a place like this.

The man who ran the station was agreeable enough. An elderly humanoid whose hands shook when Boba spoke to him and couldn’t seem to meet his gaze. He began refueling the ship and didn’t ask any questions when Boba slipped him a couple credits along with a pleasant request to ‘not go spying where he didn’t belong’.

He kept an eye on the man as he went about his work, unaware of the way he would flinch as Boba paced by and came close to him. His skin crawled with the need to get a move on and get off this remote moon as soon as possible. Something felt off. Like he was being watched.

Once the ship was fueled up, Boba followed the man back inside to pay. The uneasy, prickly feeling was back as soon as he turned his back on the ship. He paid, one hand on his Gaffi stick, fingers twitching as every sense screamed _danger_ was approaching. He couldn’t help but keep glancing back over his shoulder towards the ship.

The first blaster shot went just over his head as he stepped back outside, the metal siding of the station clanging as the shot hit the wall behind him.

Boba ducked to avoid the following blast, lunging towards his assailant who had been lying in wait for him to exit the shop. Presumably, his attacker was another bounty hunter, maybe a mercenary. Nobody would be stupid enough to go after Boba Fett without financial incentive. He was a hulking Trandoshan, but he fell easy when Boba took the Gaffi stick to his knees.

In close range, Boba’s Gaffi stick was a much better weapon to be armed with than the blaster the Trandoshan had. He reached for the vibroblade at his hip, but Boba caught his hand and twisted it, listening the fine bones crack in his grip.

He swung at the Trandoshan’s head, the sharp edge of the Gaffi crushing the thinner part of his skull just behind his eyes. Blood poured from his around his eyes and out of his nose, and he made a horrible sort of rattling noise as he died.

Boba spun and grabbed the Trandoshan’s fallen blaster, firing a shot in the direction of the footsteps crunching through the loose rock behind him. Another bounty hunter, a humanoid woman, hissed as the shot grazed her shoulder, returning fire that Boba easily rolled to avoid, her fallen comrade’s corpse absorbing the shot instead.

Movement back towards Boba’s commandeered ship caught his eye. Two more bounty hunters had used his distraction to hack the control panel and gain access to the ship. Boba lunged to intercept them, missing a fifth bounty hunter that had come up at his back who managed to land a glancing blow to the back of Boba’s helmet.

Snarling, Boba wheeled around and jammed his weapon into the soft tissue of his assailant’s throat. The other bounty hunter made a sort of whistling choking noise that told Boba he’d managed to crush the other man’s windpipe. He’d go down easy enough after a couple more moments fighting for air.

Boba turned and ran back towards the ship, making it to the ramp in time to club one of the intruders in the back of the head with a brutal blow that brought her down hard. A spray of blood spattered his visor and the front of his breastplate.

The last of their attackers had made it into the cargo hold and had passed the Mandalorian with the intent to grab the kid. Before he could get any closer, however, the Mandalorian was pulling himself up by his binders and wrapping his legs around the bounty hunter’s neck.

He squeezed, grunting in pain as the man lashed out with a vibroblade that skittered off his beskar and gouged a long wound down the flesh of his thigh. The Mandalorian didn’t release his captive though, muscles flexing and straining as he moved in a sharp, jerking motion that snapped the other man’s neck with a sharp _crack_ that seemed to echo through the small space of the cargo hold.

The corpse went limp and the Mandalorian released him, kicking the body away to rest at Boba’s feet.

“Are you going to kill me, then?”

Boba almost didn’t register that the Mandalorian had spoken, staring down at the corpse at his feet dumbly.

Well.

 _That_ had certainly been something to bear witness too. His traitorous mind played back through the scene on a loop, the hiss of pain, silver flash as the vibroblade sung through the air, muscles flexing and twisting, and the merciless crack of a neck being broken.

Boba kicked the body the rest of the way out of the ship and out into the dirt. The man who had refueled the ship was peering out from behind the door of his shop, taking in the carnage Boba had left in his wake with round, frightened eyes.

Boba was tempted to kill him, the man had probably known about the ambush, after all, but his mind felt a bit too hazy to see that thought through. Instead, he closed the ship up and turned back to the Mandalorian.

“You’re bleeding.”

Genius, Fett. Way to sound intelligent. He _knows_ he’s bleeding, you kriffing moron.

“Yes.” The Mandalorian shuffled where he stood as if preparing for Boba to try and attack him. “I overheard your call with Gideon. You’re supposed to kill me here.”

Ah.

Boba shrugged noncommittally and pushed past the Mandalorian to walk further into the ship, ignoring the way the man’s body tensed when he brushed against it.

“Supposed to. Not going to, though.” He made his decision, then. “Not bringing the kid in, either.”

He may as well get back off the ship and dig them all a nice little grave. If his employer was Empire, Boba was about to have a bounty on his head bigger than anyone.

The Mandalorian froze, then spun around to face Boba as well as he was able to, “What?”

Boba couldn’t look at him, too busy berating himself for being a soft, bleeding heart, idiot.

He made another poorly considered decision and crowded in close to the Mandalorian, pressing in too-close so that their chests were pressed flush to one another.

The sound of the other man’s breathing through his voice modulator stopped.

Boba reached up and unlocked the binders restraining the Mandalorian. “We’re about to be wanted men, sunshine. If you could wait to try and kill me until I get us somewhere they won’t come looking for us, I’d appreciate it.” He knocked a fist against the other man’s armor just above his injury, “Might want to get that patched up while you’re at it.”

He retreated back up into the cockpit, securing the hatch behind him in the hopes that he wouldn’t get a blaster bolt to the back before they could make their departure.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment letting me know what you think so far, or come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://antimatics.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I plan on making this a pretty long fic, and posting a new chapter at least once a week. I have several Star Wars fics in the works right now, so if you have any ideas for fics or just want to talk about Star Wars then come chat with me on Tumblr!  
> Thank you to aerolanya and keelilicious on Tumblr for all of their wonderful help and support! Thank you also to aerolanya for beta reading for me!


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